The Serpent's Kiss
by the.goal.is.greatness
Summary: Dunno if he had enough human in him to die... [Tom Riddle x OC]


**Title:** The Serpent's Kiss  
**Genre:** Romance / Drama  
**Rating:** K+  
**Pairing:** Tom Riddle x OC  
**Spoilers:** N/A  
**Summary:** Dunno if he had enough human in him left to die.  
**Word Count:** 1,518  
**Warnings:** Liberties taken.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Summary is obviously also from _Harry Potter_. So both that and the characters belong to JK Rowling.

**A/N:** I don't know.

* * *

When he was very young he thought that other people were awful. They were petty and mean and stupid. They were worthless. He couldn't understand their terror at the things he could do, could accomplish. He was powerful and different and _better_ than them. And yet they treated him like he was the one who was worthless, like he was the one who was inferior.

And then he was told that he _was_ special. Special even in a _world_ of special people. An heir to a great and noble House. He was better than all of them.

But he was too young, still learning, to show them everything that he knew he was capable of. So he bided his time, read and read and read, he formed alliances and was the shining child of his year, of the school. Perfect scores. Perfectly polite. The ideal youth.

"Tom?"

He glanced up from the ancient tome he was pouring through, dark eyes zeroing in on the Ravenclaw eyeing the book in his hands. "… Emma." He said finally, when the name came to him. "Emma… Thorne?" The last part was a question, asked with a querulous tilt of his brow.

She nodded, dark hair tumbling around her in disarray, her grey eyes leave the book to glance up at him. "My, you _are_ good with names, aren't you?"

The book snaps closed. "Of course. I wish to know the names of all my peers."

She's staring at him strangely, like he is a puzzle. "But are we?" He tilts his head at her, so she clarifies. "Your peers, I mean."

He smiles then, and it is every charming smile he's ever used to get what he wanted from his professors and classmates in the past. "Of course you are. What else would you be?"

"Hmmm…" It's a noncommittal sound that doesn't really mean anything. "Anyway, are you finished with that?" She points to _Tarnish and Taint: Curses and their Mark on the Soul_. "I need it for a Divination assignment."

He passes it over willingly enough. "Divination?" He can't stop the scorn from entering his tone. He himself is using it for a Transfiguration Essay on where a creature's soul went when you transformed an animate creature into an inanimate one. But Transfiguration is a real subject.

"I have a theory that repetitive uses of certain spells and curses can dampen a Seer's cognitive abilities."

Tom blinks. "You theorize that the power of a Seer lies not in their magical strength, but in the strength of their soul?"

She nods. "Correct. And so certain spells and/or curses with negative backlash on the soul will hinder a Seers ability to prophesize accurately."

That… makes sense. He thinks about all the famous Seers of history, all from ages past, when there were less witches and wizards, when spellwork was less commonplace, when curses weren't as practiced. Today Seers are almost unheard of. But if, based on this theory, he could find someone with the talent who was maybe not as versed at wand-work, then maybe he could find someone who would be able to grant a glimpse of his future.

And Tom Riddle smiled at her. "Miss Thorne, I would completely fascinated to learn more about your theory."

* * *

They are year mates, though in different Houses, so their coursework is the same. They are both incredibly bright, the Ravenclaw and the Slytherin genius. She is endlessly fascinated by his ability to converse with snakes and wants to do an entire study on whether or not the Parseltongue language can be learned like any other language, or is something inherent in blood or is a magical talent like being a Metamorphmagus. He has never had someone so intrigued by what others think is a Dark Art. He has never spoken Parseltongue to another person ever. It is a novel experience. For his part, her theories on the soul were riveting. There was so much potential in what, she thought, was an untapped well of power. There were many magical creatures that put a lot of stock on someone's soul, something that humans couldn't even tap into on purpose. What a waste, in her eyes. He agreed.

So they spend every study hour together, side-by-side. Schoolwork is completed almost mindlessly for them, they are head of their classes, neck and neck with one another to be the best in their year. Much of the coursework can be accomplished without much effort on their parts. Every other moment is spent in side-by-side comradery, pouring over textbooks and seeing who can get approval for a forbidden text first. Emma almost always wins.

"The professors trust me."

Tom frowns at she holds up another permission slip. Slughorn, his Head of House, is still the only one who will give him access to the Restricted Section. And he's never seen anyone manage to wheedle one out of Professor Dumbledore. "I think you simply bewitch them with your wide eyes." She staring at him now like that, an unconscious dead-on stare of wide grey eyes and dark lashes that piercing and innocent.

He already has an inkling of what he is going to accomplish, how he is going to make the teeming masses of weak and miserable mudbloods suffer, how he is going to make the wizarding world see his worth and superiority. He has a plan that he is slowly plotting, Seers and souls, prophecies and penance.

But, still, he is only sixteen, and a boy. And a pretty, smart, young girl is staring at him like she knows how special he is and it is not something he's ever studied in books or listened to his classmates speak about. It was something that happened to other people. But now that it was happening to him, he found he was unsure how to proceed.

"Tom?"

So he smiles at her, that charming give-me-what-I-want smile he uses on his professors when he wants to know something he's not supposed to, the one he uses on his classmates when he want them to vacate a seat. But, without his knowing, the edges are softened, the eyes are bright. Without his knowing, it is different.

* * *

They are seventeen and suddenly, all the thoughts and emotions from when he was sixteen seem to be in overdrive. He needs to learn about how souls can be harnessed _now_. Needs to find a Seer _now_. Time is running out. He needs to…

"Would you care to accompany me to the match this weekend?"

Emma blinks up at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match."

"Do you even like Quidditch?"

"I was led to understand that that is a common outing for those who – " Here he came up short. " – for those who have a high regard for one another."

She blinks again. Then, suddenly, an understanding light enters her eyes and she laughs. He's irritated beyond belief for a moment, seeing red, seeing only the children from the orphanage who teases him relentlessly. "Oh Tom, I have a high regard for you, as well." The anger deflates as suddenly as it had appeared. "You don't need to invite me of meaningless outings contrived by society – !"

He kisses her.

It is… surprisingly something that he had never wondered if he was bad at, but, of course, since he had never done this before he was spectacularly bad at it. So although he was aiming at her mouth, his lips landed somewhere next to her nose. They're staring at each other with blinking eyes and he's wondering if abject embarrassment (a new and unwelcome emotion) ever left a permanent mark on someone's soul, when she tilts her head and captures his lips with her.

* * *

It is not long after that he first hears the word _horcrux_ and convinces Slughorn to teach him about it. It is not long after that that he begins his slow and steady ascent into Lord Voldemort. But in between those times, there is a brief spell when he is nothing more than a seventeen year old boy with a girl who likes him.

It was the one part of him that made him still somewhat human, still somewhat mortal. His heart. This damn heart of his that, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, still felt something for that girl. He could break his soul into seven pieces or seven _hundred_ pieces and each piece would still remember the way she looked at him when he told her his grand plan. Each piece would remember the shattering look in her eyes when she realized what he had done to himself.

Each piece would still remember the searing heat of that first kiss.


End file.
